EVERY BLUE MOON
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Two- shot. The boys are on yet another hunt. This time in a swamp….things get a bit…well swampy. Set sometime early season-one. Hurt, lost, muddy, Sam. Protective, on the prowl, Dean. Some humor.
1. Chapter 1

**EVERY BLUE MOON **

**By: Karen B.**

**Summary: Two- shot. The boys are on yet another hunt. This time in a swamp….things get a bit…well swampy. Set sometime early season-one. Hurt, lost, Sam. Protective, on the prowl, Dean.**

**Note: Written for one reason and one reason only -- 'cause I wanted Sammy slathered head to toe in mud!**

**Disclaimer: Kripke built the ultimate sky scrapper…I just ride his elevator up and down all day long -- punching buttons -- 'cause it's fun!**

**Thank you for your time,**

**Sunshine,**

**Karen**

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It was a dark and stormy night.

No.

It was a dark and foggy night.

No.

It was a rainy, dark, foggy, crappy night.

Still, no.

Every blue moon, they, the Winchester boys, screwed up a nuts and bolts job.

'Yahtzee!' Dean would have said, had Dean been anywhere around to say it.

Sam shivered against the falling rain, kicking up sand, his boots making sucking sounds as he splashed along the edge of the dense swamp. He was in deep -- pun intended.

He'd lost his pack, his brother, and his sense of direction nearly three hours ago. Now all he had on his person was a small hunting knife strapped to his ankle, a Fruit Roll-up, a used piece of gum wrapped in foil, half a roll of flavored Rolaids, and one roaming cell phone -- all stuffed in the large front pocket of his not so favorite gray hoodie. Plenty of ingredients for MacGyver to have made a space ship -- flown to the moon. All Sam could think to make was mud pies, and flying anywhere -- in this weather -- a no go.

"Stupid," Sam grumbled, adding a failing flashlight to his growing list. He vigorously tapped the casing against his palm. "Damn it," he cursed, unable to enhance the dull, yellow glow.

Settling for what little light he could muster, Sam continued his search. The mucky swamp was spooky, surrounded by 100-120 foot tall Cypress trees heavily draped in Spanish Moss. The bushy, gray plant hung down in thick tendrils dipping into the thick layer of green algae floating atop the black water.

It wasn't easy being vulnerable, and the uncomfortable silence of being alone in the endless maze of gloom unnerved him. Ghostly, gray tufts of fog floated amongst mysterious shadows. The chirps and deep, unsettling moans of wildlife all added to the wetland's dreamlike appearance. It hadn't been hard getting lost, disoriented, and spun around the large water hole. Even Bear Grylls would find this Man Vs. Wild episode extremely difficult to hike out of -- everything looking pretty much the same.

Sam picked up a large stick, he needed something with a little more reach then his three inch switch blade to ward of anything that might become a threat. Completely aware of his surroundings, Sam watched every shadow -- moving or not -- as he wadded ankle deep through the inky black water. He held his breath with every rising bubble and ripple, conscious of all the dangers and pitfalls. Quick sand, stinging insects -- big as your hand -- poisonous snakes, man-eating, bull-sized alligators, hypothermia, dehydration, microscopic parasites threatening to invade his body. And as if that wasn't enough….

"Swamp monsters," Sam uttered, dragging white puffs of air in and out slightly parted lips as his mind wandered back to just a few short hours ago.

_"A fish? Sam, we're hunting a giant fish?" Dean questioned with a tilt of his head._

_"Swamp monster," Sam pointed out._

_"And what does goldfish boy look like?" Dean asked._

_"Not the fancy kind people keep in decorative ponds," Sam explained. "Gills, black scales layered in rows, like the shingles of a roof. Super fast, but not too bright. Brain's the size of a pea."_

_"Same as yours," Dean breathed under his breath._

_"What?" Sam shook his head._

_"What?" Dean laughed._

_"I thought…" Sam made a face in confusion. "Never mind," he mumbled, going back to the facts at hand. "They have a one track mind, Dean -- hunt, kill, eat."_

_"So, how do we bait and tackle old goggle eyes? Hook and worm? Glow in the dark fishing lure? Dynamite?"_

_"Living, breathing, flesh and bone -- bleeds red, so just about any weapon will do. Thing is," Sam continued "The creature only comes out at night, blends into its surroundings, becomes part of the environment it's living in -- camouflaged -- practically invisible."_

_"That's just …"_

_"Peachy?" Sam injected_

_"Keen," Dean added._

_It wasn't long after that, Sam and Dean had gotten separated tracking, finding, and attempting to kill the half-human, half fish-like creature. _

_The swamp monster had charged straight at them, erupting out of the thick brush like a raging lunatic, gills moving, a deep throaty war-cry splitting the air. __Blindsided, Sam and Dean reacted on gut instinct, in lightning speed they had guns drawn and at the ready. Too little, too late. The creature was fast, like a shark chasing a guppy. Knocking first into Dean, sending him lurching back against a Cypress tree and dropping him with a heavy splash into the pool of black._

_Panic stricken, Sam aimed his gun with shaking hands as the creature rushed him. He pulled the trigger, the shot going wild, bullet disappearing into the night. Before Sam could steady his aim the near invisible swamp monster was on him, knocking him down, his gun sailing one direction, the weapon's satchel the other. Strong, gnashing teeth shredded his jacket to pieces. Sam was thankful for the three layers of clothing, otherwise he'd have been filleted in seconds by the creature's serrated-edged teeth, and long bear-claws. _

_"Dean!" Sam called out to his brother, worried Dean could be unconscious -- drowning in the slimy water. _

_The swamp monster was strong, its anger -- relentless. Flinging Sam around, batting him back and forth between trees like a rubber Super Ball. Sam knew he was being toyed with, but soon the creature would just overcome him and drag him to its lair,where he would become tonight's dinner -- completely devoured. Or worse -- chopped up, one small puzzle piece at a time only to have those pieces stored for tomorrow's mid-morning snack. Sam took a breath, trying to calm down. He couldn't afford to think of himself now, he needed to get back to help Dean. _

_That thought was slammed out of Sam as he went sliding head first into a log. Before the beast could grab hold of him again, Sam stood, mule kicked, his boot catching the creature in the chest. Temporarily stunned, the part humanoid muck-monster stumbled back shaking its head, drops of water and loose scales flying in all directions. Gills flaring, the swamp monster roared, its gruesome, pearl-white fangs dripping with saliva. The large clawed hand struck out. Not enough time for defensive action, Sam could only dodge the attack, slipping in the mud once again, and dropping to his side with a wet thunk. _

_The creature had leapt upon him, flipping Sam to his back and pining him fast, its gapping mouth going straight for his jugular. A dreadful chill filled Sam's entire body as if he was already dead._

_Frightened and knowing there was nothing he could do, Sam frantically grabbed at the creature's scaly neck, desperate to stave off his own throat being ripped out. A large hand closed firmly around Sam's neck in return, quickly squeezing all the air and strength from him. Sam grunted and fought against the lack of oxygen, images of his flesh being stripped from his bones, flung around, blood flowing into the sand made him dizzy and sick._

_"Nooooooo!" The scream was loud and echoed through Sam's hazy mind._

_There was a loud cracking sound, the creature suddenly thrown off of him. Sam struggled to sit up peering through the dark shadows._

_"D'n," he gasped._

_"Sam! I got you covered, stay put!" Dean ordered roughly, never taking his gaze off the creature. The creature's attention turned on Dean, eyes glowing hot with anger a bellowing growl escaping from deep inside its throat. "Son of a carp-head, you're friggin' fugly!" The creature let loose another vile roar._

_"D'n" Sam couldn't catch his breath, his head pounding. His last blurry image before entering a whole other world of darkness was that of Dean charging into battle._

_Sam had woken up to large drops of rain pattering onto his face, cold, dazed, confused -- swamp water rising around him. For a moment he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, nor where here was. He lifted one hand and held it to his head, fingers coming back bloody, a big- fat- nothing nagging at his brain. The area was foggy gray, empty, and dreary. Sam shuddered as images slowly began to fill the hole in his brain. Words running through his head like the blood running down his face recalling Dean's last words to him._

_'Sam! I got you covered, stay put!'_

_"Shit!" Sam quickly stood, gathered his wits and began to search for his gun, the weapon's bag, Dean, or the swamp monster. _

_Unfortunately, the rain had washed away any trace of tracks and the only thing Sam could find was his dying flashlight, lying near a rock in the goopy mud._

Sam shivered back into the present, shrugging out of what was left of his jacket, he tossed the material aside, pulling his hood down further over his head. He was wet, exhausted, cold and worried about his brother. He'd wanted so badly to call out to Dean, but the dark labyrinth was teeming with danger, animal and supernatural alike. It would be stupid on his part to draw a bead on himself. Dean was either still hunting down the swamp monster, lost like him, or hurt. There was one other possibility, but Sam refused to go there.

He continued sloshing through the squishy bog, the earlier light shower, turned torrential down pour. Sam dug in his pocket, pulling out a soggy Rolaids. He popped the dissolving tablet into his mouth, hoping to produce a little saliva to ease his dry throat. Being really thirsty and surrounded by water, yet unable to drink the cooling liquid -- sucked. Swamp water, unless boiled could make you deathly sick. But what was the suckiest was being cut off from Dean.

Sam froze like an ice sculpture, spying bubbles floating to the top of the black water. He rose his stick, eyes darting back and forth searching the surface for any sign of life; waiting for something to move beneath him, grab him by the leg, pull him under. When nothing happened, he slopped onward, relaxing his hold on the thick branch, yet his heart pounded between his ears -- damn head wound.

Sam knew most animals of the swamp were nocturnal -- hunting and devouring their prey at night. He didn't have to see the bulging eyes of gators to know they were around. Clawed footprints made in the few sandy banks, followed by a tail dragging behind the large animal -- his number one clue. There was plenty of thick brush and dark shadows, he'd probably never see the gator coming, or the swamp monster for that matter.

Sam was a strong, tall guy, a hunter with good skills and high instincts, but he was positive a large gator could take him down as if he was no bigger than a thumb.

Calf-deep in swamp algae, Sam decided to try his cell again.

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The constant patter of falling rain was annoying. Sam was exhausted, soaked to the skin. His phone was useless, so was the ground he walked on. There weren't any dry spots left as he tromped hip-deep through the swampy gunk. He was miserably cold and long since given up trying to slap or itch away the tiny vampires buzzing in his ear, stinging his body, and draining his blood.

Sam's flashlight suddenly flickered. Once, twice, then went completely black.

"Nononono!" He stopped, smacking the tube against his palm repeatedly. The sick, squash-colored light hadn't been much but it was something of a comfort where there was no other to be found. "C'mon ! C'mon! C'mon!" Nothing, not so much as a glimmer. "You're screwed. Give it up, Sam," he mumbled, ramming the useless light between a y-shaped limb of a nearby tree. He'd been trying to blaze a trail, broken branches, markings on the trunks of trees using his switchblade, purposely placing suttle hints in the occasional sandbar. Dean was out here, too. With any luck, just as alive. Just as wet. Just as cold. Just as worried -- searching for his missing better half.

"Dean your 'not so' better half better be o…" Sam stood completely still in the dirty water. "…kay," he whispered, hearing a low growl, and a small splash breaking against rocks and trees.

Fear pushed against his chest and for a moment he couldn't breathe, guiding his gaze all around. Everything appeared barren and lifeless, the sudden silence echoing through his mind. Sam took in a breath, trying to stay calm. He'd been a hunter long enough to know when he was being watched -- hunted. Swamp monster or something else -- didn't matter, he was pretty much defenseless.

Sam remained steady, rooted in his spot and craning his neck.

Listening.

Watching.

Waiting to see what was aiming to devour him.

He spyed something in the distance.

"Gawd, let it be a log. Be a log. Please, be a log." Sam swallowed down on nothing.

The swish of a tail, a haunting low growl. There was no mistaking the elongated, slow moving black shadow flaoting just on top the rain-pelted surface heading his way.

Alligator.

A big one.

Sam's heart began to throb against the sides of his neck, his breath slipping in and out too fast, legs trembling. An awful picture came to his mind: large jaws opening wide, teeth lashing, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him down to the sandy bottom.

Sam's whole body quivered, the gator's intent was obvious -- his death wouldn't be a quick one. Sam would fight with all he had in him, the gator would do the same. They'd roll and tumble in the murky water, until the gator got the better of him and pinned Sam under a log until he drowned. Gator's liked to 'eat some now, save some for later' -- gobbling and gnawing on dead rotting flesh. Gawd, he hoped Dean didn't find him that way -- bloody portions of rotting, decaying meat floating around. The shadow disappeared from his sight. Sam shook his head, trying to see through the ghastly blackness.

"Ggrrr!" He flinched, feeling his face go white, something had just brushed past barely bumping his right leg. "Crap," he muttered, knowing exactly what that 'something' was.

Sam dug his feet into the sand, forcing himself to gain control of his fear, resisting the urge to flip-out and run. Any small splash would attract even more attention -- would only make matters worse. He wasn't sure what 'worse' really was. Being eaten by the swamp monster? Both creatures were dangerous and fast. Gators on land could run up to thirty miles an hour, who knew how fast they could swim. Sam grimly bit his lip, raising his stick and steadying his nerves. He briefly thought of reaching for his knife strapped around his ankle, but figured there was no time. Besides, the small blade wouldn't do much damage against the rough, scaly hide, and having a hook for a hand -- not high on his list of wants.

"Ghaaa!" Sam lurched backward in pain, his stick falling wayside and quickly drifting off with the current. "Dean!" He called for his brother, completely unnerved as that 'something' had just ripped through his jeans -- penetrating skin.

A tooth?

A claw?

A rock?

Hell, that was no rock. That much Sam was sure of.

Instinct brought Sam's hand dipping down into the water probing the burning sensation high on his inner thigh.

He forced his heart out of his throat and back into his chest. Bringing his hand up close to his face, he visually confirmed it wasn't just water dripping back down churning in the swampy current. It was blood -- his. He had to find dry ground. Not just needing to escape the jaws of death, needing to rest, try to ward off the cold, maybe dry his wrinkled, itching skin. Sam began to slowly back up, searching for a safe place or a way to get around the eight-foot eating machine, before the reptile attacked again.

Glancing around, there was nothing but rancid, black water and trees.

"Stupid!" Sam smacked a hand to his forehead. "Ow." He winced forgetting about his head wound.

Sam took in a deep breath and dove under the water, hedging toward a particularly large Cypress tree. He kicked hard, barely able to see through the quagmire of debris, figuring swimming on the surface would only create splashing noises, turning the gator into a heated missal -- out for his ass. If Sam could make it over to the tree, climb up into the branches, he could wait out the night and the gator.

Sam held his breath as long as he could. Just when he thought he'd have to take in a mouth full of water, he breached the surface. A quick check -- all limbs intact, he sighed. He'd made the journey through the cloud of slime that floated silent under the inky surface. Sam stood sputtering and coughing. He was only a couple yards away from the graying trunk of the twisted tree. He waded out of the swamp water onto a sandbar, dripping wet and barely ankle-deep. He'd climb the tree, a place to safely rest, get a better look at his wound, try to call Dean again. His cell phone was as wet as he was, but maybe he could dismantle the backing, try to dry out the wires. He needed to know Dean was okay. He needed Dean to find him.

Sam eyed the huge tree, hoping he had the strength to climb. He was beat, just wanted to sleep, let go of consciousness right there where he stood. Once he did that, however, he'd find his head inside an alligator's mouth, or worse, the swamp monsters. Instead, Sam opted for swaying and staggering his way clumsily through wet sand, wishing he could dodge raindrops. He must be loosing blood quicker than he thought to be so damn out of it and twice as cold, but couldn't spare the time to look. He better hurry before he really did face plant -- became something's maggot-ridden cuisine. Only a few more feet to go, then all he had to do was climb...

"Ahhh!" Sam suddenly dropped, going right up to his thighs in gunk. Wild eyes darted around in shock. Had the gator pulled him down? Chomped his legs off? He was too numb with cold to tell. "Get a grip, Sam," he muttered, disgusted when he realized he'd landed himself in a thick, bog of mud. "Just mud, Sam, chill, dude," he gave a nervous chuckle.

Mouth tamped shut, Sam concentrated on sucking air in and out of his nose, desperate to gain his senses. Rain fell. Thunder rolled. Lightning crashed, and the shadows of ill intent danced a waltz around him. He tried to move, wiggle his way out of the thick, brown stuff only succeeding in sinking deeper.

"What the?" He tired to move his legs, his feet, simply walk out of the pit, but the pit held him firm.

Sparing the nearby tree a look, he struggled hard to reach the dipping rope-like moss.

"Arrrgh," he let out a frustrated cry, sinking deeper.

Arms flapping, floundering, reaching.

He sank to his hips.

Lightening cracked across the sky like a bullwhip, and rain gushed like a broken gutter. Sam was quickly loosing energy trying to escape the mud pit that held him like a gangster wearing cement block shoes.

Puffing and panting, he worked to calm himself, but each movement no matter how small only tugged him painfully slowly down -- pulling - sinking - deeper -- deeper.

Realizing he wasn't getting out of this any time soon, all Sam could do was keep still, make sure he his head remained above the sloppy, brown, mud.

Sam kept every move snail-slow -- trying to ferret his way out. Maybe Dean would find him. Maybe he'd just go under -- suffocate. He'd rather be eaten alive. At least he could fight the gator.

"Dean," he gagged, all these maybes were making Sam feel sick.

**TBC….**

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	2. Chapter 2

**EVERY BLUE MOON**

**By: Karen B.**

**Summary: Conclusion**

**Thank you so much for your time in reading!**

**Sunshine, **

**Karen**

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Sam didn't know how long he'd been stuck, only knowing he was lethargic and hardly able to inch about. The rain had stopped, but that was of little comfort. He was almost completely immobile, helpless in the thick pudding-like substance. Only his right hand remained above the neck-deep muck, his left pinned against his side. The mud would never give him up, it would hold on to him until he was completely sucked under. All Sam could do was to try and keep his head above the sludge -- keep breathing. Hope the swamp monster, gator or anything else that was out there lurking in the night wouldn't see him or mistake him for a stepping- stone. Maybe he'd get lucky, maybe the bog wasn't more than six foot three inches deep. He still wouldn't get out of the cement on his own, but at least he would be left with an inch of breathing room.

Sam's senses were failing him. He was numb, his vision as fuzzy as his damaged head bobbing loosely on his neck. He couldn't even smell or taste the foul muck that kept making its way into his nose, mouth and ears. He could still hear, but the sounds were muted. There was a rustling in the brush, something coming, creeping closer, faster. A form boldly crashed out of shadows. Sam stared. The black blob saw him straight away, staring back, creeping slowly forward. Swamp monster? Mutant moss ? Snake man? Velociraptor?

Sam struggled not to move, he'd only sink deeper. He wasn't even breathing when he felt himself slip and sink further -- so much for the six foot, three inch theory.

"Gaaa," he moaned, unable to control the panic, sucking in a mouthful of mud.

"Sam?" The black blob stiffened.

"Dean?" Sam choked, desperate to wipe the mud out of his mouth with the back of his hand, arm, sleeve, anything, but there wasn't a square inch of him that wasn't coated with mire.

"Sammy!" Dean raced forward.

"D-d-don't," Sam's teeth chattered. "D-Dean, s…tay b-back," Sam yelled as loud as he could.

Dean slid to a stop only inches from the mud-pit. "What the f…"

"Swamp mud." Sam wiggled. "Trapped," he choked, sagging a little further down, chin- deep.

"Son of a bitch, Sam!" Dean's eyes were already hunting for something he could use to pull his brother out with. "Don't move!"

"You think," Sam sputtered, weakly. "You okay? Where were you?" he asked.

"Fine. Hunting for you. Found the weapon's bag and swamp boy's lair instead." Dean splashed over to the tree, pulling down a tangle of vines. "Lured and baited carp-head around by the nose -- ala Scooby Dooby Doo," he huffed, unraveling the rope-like vine.

"It's dead?"

"Of course." Dean yanked on the vine, pulling in opposite directions, testing the plants strength. "Painted a tree with mush brains -- brains. Ha!" Dean tossed the trailing foliage aside, obviously deciding the vine wasn't strong enough for the job. "Where were you anyway, Shaggy?" Dean gave a light chuckle, pulling his knife from its sheath hanging on his belt and began chopping away at a thick tree branch .

"Looking f' you," Sam gagged violently, struggling hard to avoid swallowing more mud.

"Dude!" Dean's gaze flew to meet his brothers. "Stay still! The more you move the further you're going to sink"

"No kid…" Sam's head lolled feebly from one side to the other, losing strength.

"Head up!" Dean barked, but Sam could hear the tremor of fear behind the order.

"D'n," Sam gulped, his head flopping to the left, mud creeping closer to his nose.

"Damn you, Sam!" Dean stopped sawing, quickly crouching down near the pit. "Work with me a little on this one, will you?" Dean's Eyes locked on his sinking brother. "Head up! Sam! Head up!"

Near unresponsive, Sam's head drooped further, mumbling something about 'gators'.

"Bro, look at me! Look at me, man." Dean clapped his hands together loudly. "Come on, bitch!" The last word was high-pitched, accentuated by a fist pounding into the shallow swampy water surrounding the pit.

Sam was confused, puffing and panting, and not responding to Dean's demands.

Frustrated, Dean searched the shallow sandy bottom. Finding a small stone, he reluctantly pitched the rock at his brother's lolling head.

**Plunk.**

"Sam!" Dean yelled, his heart telling him to jump in after his sinking brother -- his brain -- knowing better. "Sam!"

Sam's head remained down, the sticky substance flowing into his ear. Dean's voice was distant echo, like he'd been calling from inside a bottle. Sam just wanted to give in to sleep, blot out how cold and miserable he felt.

Reaching for another rock, Dean repeated the action.

"Sammy!" Dean roared like a tiger. "Damn you, listen!"

"What?" Sam winced.

"For the last time! Keep…your…head…up!" Dean said each word slow and loud.

Sam was a little sluggish to respond, but he pulled his head upright choking out ooze.

"Dude, you h-hit me with…with a r-rock," Sam complained.

"Yeah, well stop sucking down mud like it's going out of style." Dean stood. "Just stay with me, pal," he softened, going back to sawing at the branch. "Gonna get you out of there Sam, just gotta give me a minute."

"'K." Sam concentrated on keeping his neck muscles stiff -- sucking air in, pushing air out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Head up.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Head up.

"Almost there Sam," Dean uttered, interrupting Sam's mantra. You sticking with me?"

"Uh, pretty much all I can d-do."

"So what happened?" Dean distracted.

"Told you."

"Tell me, again." Dean sawed faster, hearing Sam's strangled gulps for air.

"After the swamp monster attacked…" heavy panting. "…Must v' blacked out, you…you were gone."

"So you went walk about?" A distant owl hooted, another not far off, answering the call. Dean looked at Sam, the kid was going under. "You know to stay put, Sam. I told you to stay put."

Sam picked up on the double meaning. 'Staying put.' becoming his new mantra.

"Dean, couldn't just sit …" Sam gasped "… Do nothing."

Dean nodded his understanding.

Sam grew silent, listening to Dean hacking away at the tree. He could feel himself slowly sinking, the mud just below his nose. He tilted his head back further, staring upward to see the coming of daylight -- a hazy gray rolling back the dark starless sky

"D'n." Sam trembled, mud obstructing his voice and his breathing

"Head up, slim boy," Dean reminded his fading brother, keeping his tone calm. "You still good?"

Sam wanted to give Dean two thumbs up, but settled for a small grunt instead.

"Keep your eyes on me, pigpen!" Dean scolded. "Maybe after this we can pimp you out at one of those catty, hot-chick mud wrestling gigs," Dean gave a nervous chuckle.

Sam half-snorted, his lungs failing him.

Having sawed through the branch, Dean turned, and rushed to the edge of the pit. "Grab on." He outstretched his hand dangling the heavy limb toward Sam.

Sam struggled to lift his free hand, mouth and nose going under the mud, eyes going wide. There would be no more 'in and out/ stay put', mantra -- he hadn't even gotten to take in one last breath.

"Sam!" Dean braced himself, feet digging into the wet, sandy bottom . "You have to grab on. Now, buddy, now!"

Sam fought the mud, eyes held steady on Dean, holding back the scream that wanted to escape as he went down. Dean disappeared from his sight as the mud covered his eyes. The numb fingers of his right hand blindly reached out, scrambling for a hold of the branch.

S -----aaaaam!" He could hear Dean scream his name, but the rest of his brother's wild cries were too muffled -- Sam's ears too packed with mud.

The branch repeatedly brushed against Sam's fingers and his unfeeling digits finally latched on. Sam's head quickly jerked back up to the muddy surface. He gagged and sputtered, barely able to breathe through his mud-packed mouth -- his nostrils completely blocked.

"I got you! I got you, bro!" Dean savagely bellowed, hauling Sam up and across the ooze. As Sam neared, Dean tossed the stick aside. "Hold on." He reached to grab the back of Sam's hoodie dragging him belly down out of the bog.

"Ahh," Sam groaned, his body agonizingly heavy, sagging to the ground.

Dean rolled the mud-coated kid smoothly onto his back, the heels of his brother's boots still dipping into the bog. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? How'd you get that head wound?" Dean fired off questions, staring intently at his shivering brother.

Sam shook his head, unable to catch a big enough breath to answer.

"Sam." Strong hands gripped his shoulders and gave a little shake. "Sammy!" Dean called a little louder in panic.

No answer, only hacking. gagging and wheezing.

"That's it!" Dean swiftly hauled Sam the rest of the way out of the sinkhole.

"Gaaa," Sam croaked.

"Easy, now," Dean whispered breathlessly, gently propping Sam's back against a tree.

The current of shallow swamp water swooshed back and forth against Sam's legs, washing away some of the muck caked onto his jeans. He was gasping, wheezing, a weak whistling breaking through his clogged nostrils in a desperate attempt to draw a full breath. With the back of his hand, Sam sluggishly tried to swipe away the mud from his nose, but only succeeded in shoving the clumps further in.

"Ungg---guuhhh," Sam gagged, eyes rolling back, half slipping sideways.

"Come on!" Dean called harshly, holding Sam upright with one hand, quickly swiping the mud out of Sam's mouth and nostrils with the other.

"Gaw." Sam was cold, muddy, and wet, his chest heaving.

"Steady, Sam. Steady." Dean continued to clear away the mud, scooping handfuls of water and rinsing the clumps away. "You tell anyone I picked your nose, and you are so getting an ultra beat down."

Only half-alert, Sam rested motionless, but tense against the tree. Even though he knew to be free of the mud pit, he couldn't seem to move, only his eyes fluttered open and shut, dimly aware of Dean compassionately swiping the mud from his airways.

"Breathe, little brother, just breathe. You're okay. You're safe."

Dean's tending eased the strain, and with a few desperate breaths Sam relaxed further back against the tree.

Sam shook, muttering something Dean couldn't understand.

"You hurt anywhere else?" Dean's hands roamed over Sam's body, coming across the wound on his leg.

"Ahhh." Sam shied away. "M' l'g."

Dean frowned, ripping at the soiled material to find the bloody bite.

"What the hell?"

"Tooth mark." Sam tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Dude, that tooth mark is awful close to your…" Dean paused. "…Your…"

Sam took in a few cleansing breaths looking down.

"Your dingle," Dean confirmed, now checking out the bloodied bump on Sam's head.

"My wha'!" Sam pulled away from Dean's touch.

"You know, Sam …" Dean let his hand fall away, satisfied the head wound wasn't going to cause more than a giant sized headache. "It's what you called… your 'thingy' when you were six."

"Thingy, D'n?" Sam sucked in a breath, some of the hazy fog leaving his brain.

"Yeah." Dean answered. "You know, Sam." He shrugged. "Your thingy." Dean's full attention going back to Sam's leg.

"For reasons…I cannot begin to…to understand…" Sam took in a deeper breath. "…Why the hell would you..." gasp... "Remember that?"

"It was cute." Dean continued tenderly probing the bite.

"Cute," Sam whined. "Van Damn and Steven Seagal would be awful disappointed in you…" A pause to breathe. "…sissy word, Dean," Sam coughed.

"Whatever, man," Dean groused, noting that Sam's leg had stopped bleeding probably due to the cold mudpack his brother had been sucked into.

The wound, although jagged, and fairly deep, didn't look life-threatening. Unless… Dean briefly wondered if alligators carried rabies, herpes, or other harmful infections.

"How's it look?" Sam broke the silence.

"What?" Dean asked, distracted by what appeared to be a chip of ivory in Sam's leg.

"My leg, stupid. Is it bad?"

"Bad enough," Dean offered, giving a wince of sympathy when Sam didn't give one of his own as he picked the tooth out. "You feel that?" he asked.

"No, it's numb." Sam tried deflecting Dean's concern, even though his leg had actually started to thaw and throb.

"Huh." Dean nodded, dragging the weapon's pack over and pulling out a piece of cloth ever so gently raising Sam's leg, and tying the injury off. The first aid wasn't much, but it would have to do. "I see that snapper, it's going belly up," Dean growled, surveying the area with his eyes only.

"It's getting light out. Gators are pretty much nocturnal," Sam grimaced.

"You geeking across the net again?" Dean raised a brow.

"Sci-fi channel -- gator flick," Sam admitted watching Dean continue his nursing fest. "Dean. Come on, man. You going to paw me to death?" Sam huffed out a breath drawing another quickly in. "Or get us the hell out of here 'case ... wrong about ...the 'nocturnal' thing...Tick-Tock get's a case of the munchies."

Dean glanced up, a dumbfounded look crossing his face.

"Captain hook," Sam explained. Dean cocked his head still not getting it. "The gator, Dean."

"Think you can stand, Disney dork?" Dean causally asked gripping Sam's forearms as the kid struggled to push back up to his feet.

"Stand. Walk. Crawl, fly," Sam groaned, flopping back toward the ground.

"Whoa there, try again." Dean offered more support.

"Anything…t' get out of here." Sam stood, teetering and hanging limp in his brother's arms.

Dean looked at Sam for a long time, wiping more goo off his face. "Dude, you're like one hundred and thirty pounds of tall, wet and clumsy." Sam wasn't just tall, wet and clumsy -- he was solid as a rock." Too many zucchini burgers, Sammy," Dean complained struggling to hold onto his charge.

"D…" Sam coughed raggedly.

"You know this damsel in distress act is getting old, princess."

"More like…a wet n-noodle act," Sam said, his entire body wilting heavily against Dean.

"Just need you to walk," Dean simply said, moving them awkwardly along. Sam tried to strengthen his wobbly knees, but they kept threatening to buckle, his head drooping. "Sam! Hey! " Dean struggled to sustain his brother's weight. "Come on. Need a little help here," Dean panted, watching every looming shadow. Sam's body was loosing the battle with exhaustion, slouching further into Dean. "Come on, Sam -- march!"

Sam lifted his head at the military command their dad always used, knowing Dean wouldn't be able to easily carry him out of the swamp.

Favoring his right leg, Sam's determined steps shuffled him along.

"You got it, Sam," Dean encouraged.

"Wh-what…" Sam's teeth chattered against the cold that cut into his skin like razor blades. He needed to talk, distract himself from his throbbing head, and burning leg, or he'd drag them both into the muck. "What did you c-call your…you know ... ? " Sam side-glanced at Dean, zeroing in on the first subject that popped into his hazy mind.

Dean made a crazy face, causally poking an index finger into his temple and twisting.

"P--p--please," Sam muttered, trying hard to keep moving. "N- n-not buying into th-that 'Men In Black' memory-zapper cr--crap. I know you remember… s-so…"

"So, I'm sick of the water, Sam. Wish we had a pogo stick," Dean snorted, evading the subject.

"Whatever." Sam's gaze shifted straight ahead, black dots sending him swaying off balance.

"Hey, hey!" Dean tensed, muscles rippling across his back -- supporting Sam even more. "Where you going…you okay?"

"I'm c-c-cool." Sam trembled, the chills crawling up and down his spine.

"The coolest." Dean rubbed one hand up and down Sam's arm.

"Least I'm all in-in one p-piece." Sam blinked away the spots that were doing a slow waltz before his eyes.

"Come on, chocolate covered, Sasquatch. Let's get you out of here."

Sam stumbled blindly along, Dean's strong hands clutching him firmly, guiding the way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours melted away, and sometime later Sam found he was no longer walking through the forested wetlands, but being eased inside the shelter of the Impala.

"We made it?" Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Course."

Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes in exhaustion, happy to be off his feet. The weight of Dean's jacket was draped over him, shaky fingers brushing mud-matted hair away from his eyes. A reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, just before the passenger door creaked shut.

Lying back quietly against the seat, Sam could hear Dean cursing, key's jingling, the trunk popping open, weapon's meticulously placed back to their proper spots. And Dean thought Sam was OCD.

The driver side door finally groaned, the seat dipped, and the weight of a blanket was added on top the jacket. Sam opened his eyes, fighting to keep contact with Dean's -- but failing as they fell shut.

"Just sleep." The palm of Dean's hand patted his shoulder "You're fine."

Lips slightly open, chest rising and falling slowly, Sam inched further down into the seat.

"Dean," Sam said in a sleepy voice, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Huh?" Dean responded softly.

"Seriously, man." He raised his hand to swipe the tickle from his nose. "Tell me what you called your…" Sam's hand fell limp to his side, instead leaning across the seat into Dean.

"My thingy?" Dean filled in the blank, reaching over to pull his fatigued brother carefully to him. "Forget it, Sammy boy…. no can tell."

Sam's eyes fluttered, ducking his head and rubbing his nose against Dean's shirt.

"Gross, Sam."

"Sorry." Sam's breathing turned shallow, his trembling lessening, sleep taking its toll.

"Sam?" Dean tapped his brother lightly on the cheek. "Sam, you sleeping?" Gingerly taking Sam's wrist he checked his pulse. Slow, steady, strong. Dean smiled, setting Sam's relaxed hand down. "Rest easy, little brother, big brother's here." Dean took a moment to tenderly scratch his brother's nose and brush the drying mud off Sam's parted lips.

Sam shifted, a soft gasp sweeping across Dean's neck.

It was a dark and stormy night.

No.

It was a dark and foggy night.

No.

It was a rainy, dark, foggy, crappy night.

Still, no.

Every blue moon, Dean let a chick-flick moment slip out under his radar, reminding Sam of how much he was truly loved.

'Yhatzee.'

"Maverick," Dean whispered, reaching forward to put the key in the ignition.

"You need help," Sam slurred, eyes closed, a smile curving his lips.

"Dude, you suck! You're supposed to be sleeping." Dean angrily turned the engine over, hiking the heater up, tires squealing as he pulled out onto the road.

"Only you would think your 'thingy' is one of a kind, Dean," Sam laughed, snuggling closer to Dean.

"I. Eh. You. Come on!" Dean grumbled under his breath, fidgeting behind the wheel, unable to find a good enough comeback, he settled for shutting up.

Another small rumble of laughter filled Sam's chest and he peaked open one eye.

"Dean, you're blushing."

"Am not."

"You are," Sam giggled.

"No, Sam. I'm not." Dean's tone turning rough and business like.

"Yes, Dean. You are."

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

"Sam!"

"Dean!"

"Dingle, jerk."

"Maverick, bitch.

"Whatever," spoken in unison.

The end.


End file.
